


Leaps of faith and other cliches

by WafflesnRizzles



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WafflesnRizzles/pseuds/WafflesnRizzles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set right around 3x01. Emma Swan can't sleep in her bunk atop Regina's on the Jolly Roger, and she realizes she has yet another leap of faith to make that day before dawn sets in. A SQ oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaps of faith and other cliches

**Author's Note:**

> A weensy bit of smut, some feels and a lot of hope for Emma and Swen.

The ship was creaking, yawning—groaning as it tossed restless on the dark sea. They had just broken the storm borne of their own animosities and Neverland was only a days’ sail away. They all had insisted Emma needed her sleep (she had almost died, after all), but she was as restless as the ship, it seemed.  

 

_“When have you taken a real leap of faith? You know, the kind where there is absolutely no proof?”_

 

Emma, the rational, fact-driven Sheriff and ‘bail bondsperson’ had certainly taken a literal leap of faith that day. She had known that their bickering and physical violence were fueling the storm when Snow had punched Regina (it also served as a bittersweet reminder that this woman was certainly _not_ the sweet Mary Margaret she had once known); she had also known that if she were in danger, every single one of them on that ship would try their damndest to make sure she was okay. She guesses that it was one of the few perks of being the Savior.

 

So she had jumped.

 

She heard Charming and Mary Margaret scream her name. Even under the calm oppression of sea water, she could hear Regina yell, “ _Idiot_ ,” in favor of her name or the preferred moniker of ‘Miss Swan.’ The thought of it made her smile even now in the darkness.

 

She listens to the light pattern of breathing in the bunk below her. When had they come to this? Being comfortable enough to sleep in one another’s presence?

 

The breathing pattern changes from slow and calm to short and erratic. It’s quiet and subtle, but she can feel the entire bunk shaking softly with it.

 

Regina was crying. Emma isn’t sure what to do, but her first instinct is to go to the brunette below her—so she does. It’s when she’s crouching at the head of Regina’s bed and mumbling the word, “Hi,” that she realizes she has no idea what to do next.

 

“Miss Swan!” Regina exclaims in surprise. The words are muffled through the mire of crying congestion. She regains her usual composure in the darkness—Emma can feel the woman shift and grow rigid with it. “You need to be asleep.”

 

“ _You’re_ not asleep.” And suddenly, Emma realizes where Henry gets his cheeky defiance from. It makes her swell with pride and feel like crying all at once.

 

Regina swallows audibly in the dark. The lapping of the waves against the ship and the creaking fill the moments that otherwise would have passed in silence. “Henry,” Regina murmurs, the word almost overwhelmed by the creaking and lapping so loud in comparison.

 

And Emma’s empathy goes out to the broken woman. The terror of never seeing her son again—after finally feeling so full of his love and innocence and goodness—set her heart all broken and jagged. She loved him fiercely, just as the woman beside her loved him with a passionate desperation. The confession pours out of her, falling on the ears of the only person who could fathom the deep ache undulating within her.

 

“I…all I want to do is watch the kid grow up. Happy and healthy, surrounded by people who love him and support him. I…never had any of that. You never had any of that. I think…Regina, I think _we_ could give that to him. Now that I’ve had him in my life, now that I know him, it’s all I want.”

 

Now it’s Emma who’s crying, and she almost starts when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She hears Regina scoot against the wall and a gruff, ‘come here,’ and soon she’s pressed up against the former mayor and being held against her chest. A hand comes up to run through her mussed curls, and the gentle motion slowly soothes the frantic sobs bursting from her chest in embarrassing, unladylike bursts. Not that she ever _cared_ about being ladylike or anything—it was just that when Regina was crying it was so quiet and delicate. And Emma…well, she sort of sounded like an elephant in labor.

 

“We will find him, Emma,” Regina says softly once Emma has quieted down. She swallows audibly, and Emma can also feel the way it slides down her neck because she’s so close. “That’s all I want, too.” And for a few moments, they’re just two grieving mothers, clinging to one another when their singular source of light has faded away.

 

But then, some time later: “Don’t you ever do that again, Miss Swan.” She sounds like she’s remonstrating a child, and Emma’s first reaction is to feel thoroughly cowed. She knows she’s talking about the stunt Emma had pulled during the storm on the ship, when she had deliberately dove into the stormy waters potentially to her death.

 

“I can’t promise you that, Regina. You should know.” Regina had just sacrificed herself in the mine for Henry and all of Storybrooke. The hypocrisy would have been laughable if it weren’t so sad.

 

“He needs you far more than he needs me. I hurt everyone I love…but you, Miss Swan?” Her voice is raw and scratchy. Low with something Emma can’t quite place. “You inspire love.”

 

Emma feels the breath spill out of her at the brunette’s honest words. Again, she is shocked by how different Regina was from the woman who was fighting tooth and nail to keep Henry from her. Now she was—in a complete reversal—giving Henry willingly over to her, trusting her with him. Not trusting herself.

 

The brunette chuckles darkly. “You don’t even see it, do you? How much everyone loves you?”

 

Emma would think Regina were envious of all of the people who care about her if it weren’t for that breathless note that choked on the word _love_.

 

And suddenly, Emma knew that there was one more leap of faith she had to take today.

 

It was difficult to see where she was going in the dark, so her hands fumbled before her, feeling the curve of a shoulder and then the arch of a neck and the tickle of soft hair. Her hands finally found the strong set of Regina’s jaw, her thumbs resting in the slight hollow of the woman’s cheeks.

 

The woman was stiff in her arms like a woman much used to being touched against her will. It made Emma’s heart ache for all of the things she would never know about Regina’s tragic life.

 

“Regina.” The words ghosted out of Emma’s parted lips and fanned out across the brunette’s face. Emma wishes she could see the beautiful woman below her, but the impenetrable darkness refused her. She longed to look into the rich, expressive brown eyes she knew were just mere inches away. They had always held a sort of power over Emma, and all she wanted right then was to finally fall into them.

 

Emma let her thumbs scout ahead to trace the path of Regina’s full lips. She felt the woman’s breath catch in her throat and shudder in her chest. With a surge of courage, Emma brought her lips down to meet Regina’s own. The soft press of their bodies together made Emma feel like she was tumbling down a soft hill: breathless but afraid of grass stains.

 

It felt easier than any other kiss she had ever had. The way Regina’s body stiffened and then melted almost instantaneously, her hand reaching around to fist in Emma’s tank top and her other wrapping around Emma’s back. The way she nipped insistently at Emma, giving her a thousand tiny kisses in one, their lips sliding over and around one another with rising passion. The way her body shuddered as Emma’s tongue ran over her fuller lips and her fist became blunt nails digging into the bared skin of her lower back.

 

The way Emma felt like she was tumbling ever faster, falling into Regina and never wanting to stop. The woman had always been like a drug to her: exhilarating even when (or maybe especially when) she was plotting directly against Emma. She challenged Emma, made the blood sing in her veins. Hell, she even made Emma _smile_ with some of her snarky quips and haughty remarks.

 

The way Emma feels like something is finally _right_ for once in this fucked up Fairytale she’s been living. Like she can breathe (metaphorically, of course, because right now she really _can’t_ ).

 

It’s the best damned kiss Emma Swan had ever had.

 

Regina pulls away suddenly with a long gasp, pushing Emma bodily away from her. “Miss Swan that is…” she pauses to catch her breath.

 

“Mhmm,” Emma mumbles, moving back toward the brunette and burying her head in the crook of Regina’s neck. Her lips find the soft skin there and press up the column of her neck and back down, sometimes in the same spot multiple times, sometimes ghosting and sometimes nipping.

 

She was definitely not willing to let this moment go. Not yet. The jagged pieces had stopped hurting so much when she was kissing Regina, and she felt almost liquid—fluid and somewhat intangible, flowing immune over the jagged edges of the rocks below. Smoothing them.

 

_A death sentence for you._ “Highly inappropriate.” Emma’s lips continue their onslaught, making coherent thought extremely difficult for the flustered brunette. She angles her neck to the left, giving the Savior more room to work.

 

_Because everything I love is taken away._ “You are the mother of my child, Miss Swan, nothing more. This absolutely cannot happen a-again.” The last word is tripped over with a sharp gasp as Emma’s teeth scrape against the spot just behind Regina’s right ear. Emma’s tongue swirls upward, leaving a cold, damp trail as she tongues and suckles on Regina’s earlobe.

 

“Mhmm,” Emma mumbles once more, a smile curling her mouth upwards and pressing her right cheek against Regina’s own. “You are,” Emma latches onto the warm feeling of Regina’s olive skin underneath her silky black camisole. “So right.” She proceeds to press Regina’s body back against the mattress, once again hovering over her. Her mouth meets Regina’s again and her body presses its full length against the former queen, making her itch for fewer articles of clothing and the feeling of smooth, smooth skin. “But we might as well make a night of it,” Emma breathes between kisses, and she smiles at the urgently whispered ‘gods, yes’ that quickly follows.

 

They wake up in the morning to frantic shouting, their naked limbs entangled so thoroughly that Emma falls off the narrow bunk in the wild commotion that followed. Her bare ass was cold against the rough planks, and Emma couldn't help but notice how beautiful Regina was with her eyes wide in recognition of their previous night’s activities and her hair deliciously mussed.

 

Regina’s scent clung to her as she dressed herself in the same clothes as the previous day. Their movements were jerky and unsure around one another, their eyes scattering in every direction except to meet; because to meet was to find answers to questions neither wished to ask of themselves.

 

When they reached the deck of the Jolly Roger, they were informed that the Jolly Roger had hit unusually shallow and rocky waters and was quickly taking on water. Their feet had barely hit the top deck before a sickening creak and crack sounded from somewhere below deck, causing the ship to pitch violently inward. They jumped into the rowboat with scrambling fury, the little dingy pulling away just as the boat split, ragged and uneven, down the middle.

 

It was when Emma suggested that they all cooperate to find Henry and Regina sardonically asked if they should be ‘friends,’ that Emma knew this would not be a one-night fling. It was the resentful and defensive way the brunette had thrown it at her—and had so acerbically asked about Emma’s qualifications—that Emma knew she would be fucking the ex-mayor hard against some unpleasant surface that coming night.

 

It was when Emma touched Regina’s hand and found willing fingers to wrap around hers that she knew Henry would be coming home; that they would win.

 

It was when they disembarked from Neverland, little Henry dutifully attached to her side, that Emma knew it wouldn’t be easy, and that it sure as fuck wouldn’t be a perfect little fairytale. But the word maybe clung to the corners of her mind, struggling in the cobwebs.

 

It was when she was settled back in the Charmings’ loft, her lumpy mattress too big and her naked body itching for smooth legs and soft skin that she sent _the text_ to the reformed evil queen who had been ghosting behind every thought she had since they had found their son.

 

**Hi.**

 

It was one word, seemingly innocuous. But in some stupid, sentimental part of Emma’s brain, it was _their_ word.

 

The response back took a few, agonizing minutes. But Emma could see the little ellipses that denoted Regina was formulating a response.

 

**Miss Swan. You need to be asleep.**

 

The corners of Emma’s mouth twitch up in a barely-contained smile and bubbles of effervescing happiness popped and fizzed in her chest. Honestly, she felt like a crushing pre-teen, but it felt too good to dwell upon the childishness of it all.

 

**You’re not asleep.**

 

The response is almost immediate this time.

 

**Don’t you have two idiot boyfriends you could be texting at this ungodly hour?**

 

Emma smiles even wider, biting her lip and rolling her eyes at her own idiocy. The former mayor was jealous.

 

**Possibly. But I wasn’t thinking about *them* while not sleeping.** It was a stupid response, Emma knows, but she can’t help but feel emboldened by the stillness of the night and the darkness to mask her bad decisions.

 

**Oh?**

 

Regina wasn’t giving her any ground here, and Emma wishes she could see the woman’s face so she could try to read what she was thinking. She swears she sees a glimmer in the mirror on her dresser, and suddenly she knows _exactly_ what the older woman is thinking.

 

Emma turns on the small lamp by her bed and slowly inches her way out from the covers, letting the cotton sheet stick momentarily to her naked breasts before falling away. She suddenly thinks the harsh yellow light is a bad idea, because right now she’s feeling really, really exposed and the light can’t be doing much for her sleep-deprived self at the moment.

 

She plows on, though, stubborn till the end, and smiles questioningly at the mirror, biting her lip. “Regina,” Emma whispers to the mirror, and sees her reflected image ripple like a pond caressed by a strong sweep of wind. Emma isn’t quite sure in the light reflected off the mirror, but she thinks she sees a pair of wide, brown eyes before the image settles again.

 

Emma stretches lazily, her arms reaching back over her head and pushing out her breasts. The sheet falls low on her stomach, pooling around her hips. She kicks it off, exposing her whole body to the mirror in front of her.

 

She should stop.

 

Instead, she begins trailing her hand over her exposed skin: up her thighs, over the plane of her hard stomach, skating them over her breasts while not lingering.

 

She moves to type a long-overdue response to the brunette. **I could use a hand…or two.**

 

Her fingers resume tracing patterns on her skin, this time lingering more, pressing harder. She feels a deep sigh release from her lungs. Damn she needed this. She sees the mirror ripple lightly, and she smiles wickedly, enjoying the fact that the brunette must be watching her every move.

 

Who knew Emma was so into voyeurism?

 

Her hands begin focusing more diligently on her taut nipples, rolling them and pinching them as her head presses harder into the pillows, arching the column of her neck. The word ‘Regina’ tumbles past her lips, catching in her throat and pooling between her thighs. It falls more frequently and stretches longer on her tongue as her fingers find her dripping core, spreading it wide for the mirror to see.

 

Her breath comes in short, harsh pants as she imagines the woman laying on her large, lush bed, legs spread and a hand mirror grasped tightly in her left hand. Regina’s fingers are mirroring her own, stroking her equally wet centre and her deep eyes blown black with lust.

 

She comes when she sees those very eyes boring through her own in the mirror, her body convulsing as wave crashes over wave and floods her hazy mind.

 

The brown eyes disappear as quickly as they came, and the mirror grows placid once more. Emma receives no more texts that night.

 

The next morning when Emma is picking up Henry from Regina’s, the woman’s usually expressive eyes are devoid of any recognition that the previous night had occurred. No amount of innocent or overt references would goad the woman into talking about it, and the weight of rejection settled heavily on the determined blonde.

 

This…thing between her and Regina. It was something _more_ , she knew. It was something Big. Something inevitable. It was a gravitational pull that, eventually, they would both succumb to.

 

SQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQSQ

 

Emma is an unusually patient person. She has never gotten anything she wanted in life without an inordinate amount of time and hard work—and even then it wasn’t guaranteed. So she waited for some signal, any signal, that would show her that the former mayor wanted her beyond their infrequent mirror escapades (the ones where Emma inevitably ended up crying out the former queen’s name, her body rocking against her hand and stuttering to a blissful end).

 

But time moved on, and Emma found herself falling into Hook like someone pushed onto a stage for a set she had never practiced for. The lights were bright and the audience was expectant, so she just…performed.

 

And then Robin Hood, Regina’s _soul mate_ happened, and Emma found herself draping a sheet over the mirror every night before she undressed for bed. In the morning she would uncover it and talk as she moved around her room getting ready for the day, not knowing if the woman behind the mirror could see her or hear her—if she would _want_ to see her or hear her with her happy ending following her around like a lovesick school boy. It made the steel conviction in her veins bend and sharpened the jagged pieces in her heart.

 

She talked to the mirror anyway. Just little things. What she had dreamed about that night, what she was doing that day, how annoying that damned bird was that decided to start chirping every morning at 4 a.m. How Snow denied any ability to “have a talk” with it.

 

And sometimes Emma would drop seemingly innocuous hints that she was waiting for the former mayor. Whispered, “I’m a patient woman, Regina,” and pleading green eyes shimmering with emotion, “We can be so much more.”

 

Emma still sees the mirror ripple from time to time, and it makes her smile so damned brightly.

 

But they never talk about it. Not in person, at least. And soon they’re going down into the Underworld trying to save ‘the dirty pirate’ Regina always seemed so displeased with.

 

Emma knows she’s jealous and it makes her heart sing with Hope.

 

The maybes stuck in cobwebs are still there, still struggling, and Emma can feel the taut gossamer strings straining under the weight of the newly-entangled ‘soon.’

  
Soon.

 

Her hand feels limp in Hook’s one good hand, and the words _leap of faith_ sing softly within her, daring her to fight for the happy ending she so desperately wants.

 

_Soon_.


End file.
